CAPE HORN AGAIN
As the strength of the winds increased and we were mostly always before
it, Captain Nichols concluded the ship would sail better if she was a
trifle further down by the stern. We had loaded on an evener keel in
Honolulu than on the passage out and now it was decided by the skipper
to shift some weight aft. This was done by breaking out two hundred
bags of sugar from the fore part of the hold and dragging it aft to the
extreme end of the lazarette. The weight shifted, about fifteen tons,
certainly made her steer better than before.
On June twenty-third we rove off a new main tops'l halyard purchase,
and overhauled the tops'l tye. The weather was getting more and more
severe, and we ran before it under fore lower tops'l, close reefed
fores'l, reefed main upper tops'l, main lower tops'l, and mizzen lower
tops'l, all other sail being on the yards and furled with the exception
of fore topmast stays'l and jib, both hauled amidships as a precaution
against broaching to. The seas rose gradually and the ship rolled
heavily. On June twenty-fifth our cargo shifted in the fore part of the
'tween deck, giving us a nasty list to leeward of about five degrees,
and all hands were called at two in the mid watch to trim cargo. This
was a devil of a job, except that it was warm, and kept us steadily
employed for a stretch of twelve hours with only a short spell for
grub. Captain Nichols himself came into the 'tween decks, and later on
Mr. Zerk, myself and two of the men, Frenchy and Axel, if I remember
right, went through the lower hold on top of the heaped-up sugar, where
the sweet, sticky smell, slightly sour, mingled with the odors of the
riled-up bilge, and the complaining of the hull. I carried a lantern
and the rays, against the knees and beams, cast weird shadows. The hold
was a fearsome place, pitching and rolling as if in mortal agony.
We found it increasingly necessary to keep the pumps going as the
water worked in rapidly when running. A ship under such conditions of
wind and sea is alternately lifted with her midship section carried
on the back of a roller, her ends more or less tending to droop, or
she is in the trough between two wave crests with her ends buried and
the midship section hanging. Oftentimes a poorly built craft becomes
"hogged," that is, the midship is permanently lifted up and her sheer
thrown out.
A constant repetition of stresses such as we were experiencing on the
_Fuller_, made intense by the dead weight of the cargo and the urge
of the masts carrying their spread of sail, is bound to result in
damage to the vessel. While working in the hold, the complaining of her
timbers seemed worse than ever before on the voyage. We often wondered
if she was going to pieces, as indeed many unreported ships have done.
The sensation below gave one an impression of being at sea on a very
uncertain proposition; a great leaky wooden box, with every solitary
frame, scantling, hook, knee, and plank, complaining bitterly at the
hard fate that had wrought them in the shape of a ship.
"I wish the bloody owners was down here for a day or two," said Old
Smith, as we were shifting cargo in the hold, and I heartily agreed
with him.
A few days later, when on deck, we forgot the forbidding pandemonium
below; purposely forgot it, as so many people do with other things,
and, as the ship did not wrack herself to pieces that voyage, we at
least were saved a lot of unnecessary worry.
On July first we were still plowing before it under reefed canvas. All
work on deck was at a standstill except that required for sailing the
ship, and by way of exercise and safety, the "farmers" dragged the
"bear." Cape pigeons were everywhere and we caught a number of them for
their wings by trailing a fish line overboard and hooking them. These
birds are beautifully marked and when taken on deck invariably vomit
their dinners; it almost looks as though the motion of the ship made
them seasick. High overhead gray molly-hawks and fulmar gulls soared
white-bellied and noisy against the leaden sky.
Oil bags were trailed over the side as the high seas surged past us
like race horses, their white crests crinkling dangerously under our
transom, and along the full sweep of the bulwarks, slopping aboard
as we rolled, filling the gangways and main deck with tons of cold,
blue water. Often, at the braces, we would be buried in these seas, a
strange sensation that for the moment, as the weight of water lifted
the feet from the deck, gave one the sensation of being detached from
the ship, of being out in the midst of it all thousands of miles from
shore; a funny feeling is this, entirely devoid of fear, though, of
course, one held on like blazes to whatever was most handy, usually the
pin rail or other substantial deck fitting.
Much has been written about the height of waves, and as we approached
the southern limit of our course and headed to the east, well below
the parallel of Cape Horn, we got the full benefit of those constant
westerly winds that blow around the world. Here the heaviest straight
line gales are to be met with and the great fetch of deep water helps
to produce magnificent waves of the first magnitude.
Lecky, in his "Wrinkles," a book no sailor should be without, and a
book no lover of the sea who likes to "be up" on things nautical should
neglect to read, quotes Mr. Thomas Stevenson as the authority for an
empirical formula that approximates the possible maximum height of
waves, the same being considered as a function of the "fetch."
This is given as a matter of interest, for working it backward it shows
how tremendous the sea spaces through which the rollers that followed
us had their being. The Stevenson formula is as follows:
Height of wave in feet equals the square root of the "fetch" in
nautical miles multiplied by the constant 1.5.
Or, backward: the distance a wave has come equals its height, divided
by 1.5, and the quotient squared.
As the wind increased in strength the waves mounted until immense
billows were formed that measured from 50 to 60 feet in a vertical
line from hollow to crest. This was easily determined by mounting the
shrouds and watching until the ship was in the trough, then noting
the height of eye on a level with the wave crests. In reversing the
Stevenson formula we find that for a 60-foot wave a fetch of at least
1,600 miles is necessary.[8]
[8] Dr. G. Schott, as the result of studying the form and height of
sea waves, claims that under a moderate breeze their velocity was 24.6
feet per second, or 16.8 miles per hour, which is about the speed of a
modern sailing vessel. (Some speed!) As the wind rises, the size and
speed of the waves increase. In a strong breeze their length rises to
260 feet and their speed reaches 36.0 to 36.4 feet per second. Waves
the period of which is 9 seconds, the length 400 or 425 feet, and the
speed 28 nautical miles per hour, are produced only in storms. During a
southeast storm in the southern Atlantic, Dr. Schott measured waves 690
feet long, and this was not a maximum; for in latitude 28 degrees south
and longitude 39 degrees west, he observed waves of fifteen seconds'
period, which were 1,150 feet long with a velocity of 78.7 feet per
second, or 46-1/8 nautical miles per hour. Dr. Schott does not think
that the maximum height of the waves is very great. Some observers
have estimated it at 30 or 40 feet in a wind the force of which is
represented by 11 on the Beaufort scale (the highest number of which
is 12); and Dr. Schott's maximum is 32 feet. He believes that in great
tempests waves of more than 60 feet are rare, and even those of 50
feet are exceptional. In the ordinary trade winds the height is 5 or 6
feet. The ratio of height to length is about 1:33 in a moderate wind,
1:18 in a strong wind, 1:17 in a storm; from which it follows that the
inclination of the waves is respectively about 6, 10, and 11 degrees.
The ratio to the height of the waves to the force of the wind varies
greatly.--_Scientific American._
_Note on Above by Author._--It would seem that the late Dr. Schott, if
quoted correctly, did not consider the "fetch" as an element in the
process of wave formation at sea; but his maximum waves were observed
at a point where there was plenty of sea room.
Enough sail had to be carried to give the ship ample steerage way when
the walls of rushing water passed us, for incredible as it may seem
to those who have not had the experience, the waves of the sea run at
a speed far greater than anything afloat that sails. The tidal wave,
theoretical at least, must have a speed of one thousand miles per hour
in order that the tides may follow the attraction of the moon and
girdle the earth each twenty-four hours; _some speed_ even in these
days of rapid travel. Here we have a vertical translation of motion and
not a horizontal shifting of water at that terrific speed. In the sea
waves caused by wind friction, there is also simply a translation of up
and down motion, except for the rearing crest; if the sea waves moved
bodily it would be extremely dangerous to live near the seashore and
the coasts would soon be worn away; also, ships would not dare venture
upon the ocean.
This statement about the possible destructive effect of the sea waves
were they to move bodily started one of the hottest arguments ever
contested in the fo'c'sle of the _Fuller_. Tired and worn as we were,
the greater part of an afternoon watch below was taken up in assailing
my position. Australia could not see that I was right; even my staunch
pal Frenchy doubted it. Finally I brought out my trusty "Wrinkles in
Practical Navigation" by that sailor's friend, the late Captain S. T.
S. Lecky, who added laurels to the name of the English merchant sailor
that will never fade, and put them all to rout. The passage on Great
Sea Waves is worth giving, and I here include it.
"The term 'Great Sea Wave' is used in contradistinction to 'Great Earth
Wave,' which latter is the name given to the disturbance experienced on
land.
"An earthquake may have its center of impulse either inland or under
the bed of the ocean. In the first case, when the 'Great Earth Wave,'
or superficial undulation, coming from inland, reaches the shores of
the sea (unless these be precipitous, with deep water) it may lift
the water up, and carry it out on its back, as it were; for the rate
of transit of the shock is sometimes so great that the heap of water
lifted up has not time to flow away toward the sides.
"At Arica, in Peru, and other places, this sudden going out of the sea
has made bare the bottom of the bay, and left ships aground which only
a few minutes before were riding quietly at anchor in several fathoms
of water.
"As soon as the shock is over, the body of water thus forced out to sea
returns as a huge wave, and, on approaching a sloping shore, rears up
like a wall, and breaks with overwhelming force. Sometimes, however,
its volume, height, and velocity are so great that it comes ashore
bodily, and breaks far inland, causing even greater destruction to
life and property. At Arica, the _Wateree_--a 'double-ender' belonging
to the United States Navy--was carried inland quite a distance by the
reflux, and remained as evidence for many years. If the writer's memory
is not at fault, she was carried clean over the railway embankment.
"When the seat of the disturbance is beneath the ocean, the 'Great Sea
Wave' rushes in upon the land as before--with this difference, that it
is not preceded by the water retiring from the foreshore, as in the
first case....
"About the most notable instance of a 'Great Sea Wave' occurred during
the stupendous and ever-memorable eruption in August, 1883, which had
for its center the Island of Krakatoa, in the Straits of Sunda. On this
occasion the loss of life amounted to 37,000, caused chiefly by the sea
waves, one of which attained the almost incredible height of 135 feet.
Its effects were traced to all the principal tide gauges of the world,
and were even observed at Havre, some 11,000 miles from the source of
origin.
"A full account of this eruption, which was investigated in detail by
committees and sub-committees of the Royal Society, comprising many of
the leading scientists of the day, has been published in a volume of
nearly 500 quarto pages, under the editorship of Mr. G. T. Symons. In
this book every branch of the phenomenon and its effects have been most
thoroughly dealt with, and is consequently well worth perusal."
What Captain Lecky has said may well cause us to pause and wonder
how a "Great Sea Wave" would affect Coney Island of a hot Sunday in
midsummer.
However, on the ship _Fuller_, to get back to our muttons, we thought
of no Coney Island. We were very much at sea, and thankful for the fact
that the waves could grow no larger. For it is a fact that the rapid
rate of progress of waves serves to limit their height, for as soon as
the speed of the wave becomes about half that of the speed of the wind
the accelerating effect of the wind action remaining is absorbed by the
friction of the water particles, and the waves are at their maximum.
We had a splendid opportunity to study the waves, and it was with a
never-failing fascination that I always looked for the occasional
grouping of three or four large rollers, rising above the rest, due to
a piling up because of differences in rate of progress. On the ships
of an earlier day, the fear of being "pooped" was always uppermost in
the minds of timid helmsmen, but on the _Fuller_ we were protected in
a measure by the wheelhouse. This structure, right aft against the
taffrail, served as a shelter, and at the same time housed the tiller,
the tiller shackles, and the relieving tackles. The fore part was given
over to the wheel and was quite fancy, immaculate white gratings
under foot, bright wood panelling inside and brass fittings wherever
possible. A sliding shutter overhead was thrown back, when on the
wind, to allow the helmsman a sight of the weather cloth of the mizzen
skysail. Just forward of the binnacle, and taking in the whole front of
the wheelhouse, was a window fitted with sliding shutters. At least one
of these was always open, for the officer of the deck never came into
the wheelhouse when on duty, merely shouting his orders to the man at
the helm. The good sense that finally provided wheelhouses on sailers
was amply justified. Comparative warmth and protection from wind and
sea helped just that much in steering, and a far better course was held
through the long, strenuous watches of heavy weather. The wheelhouse
was always one of the most comfortable spots aboard ship.
To my mind, steering was a lot of fun. This was specially so in good
lively weather. The direct pull of the rudder, the "kick" and the
"feel" of the ship never failed to thrill me with a sense of power.
Just as handling "the stick" on a good able boat in fine brisk weather
is a sport of never-ending delight, so the trick at the wheel aboard
the _Fuller_ always made me feel that I was the man who sailed the
ship.
The pointer by old Bo'sun Dreilick, of the _St. Mary's_, and now of the
_Newport_, that ancient mariner of many, many voyages, filled with the
accumulated wisdom of the seven seas, stood me in good stead. "When
at the wheel, work the ship in your mind as if you had charge of the
watch," was his advice. Doing this aboard the _Fuller_ with such a
consummate sailor as Mr. Zerk in charge was an instructive exercise.
During daytime tricks I could see where sails needed trimming, or where
a shift of canvas would help her, and would often have everything
settled in my mind before the mate would notice things. At night it was
different. The least shift of wind or the slightest change of weather
always found him on the alert. To an ambitious lad, anxious to master
the hoary art of conducting a ship across the surface--decidedly,
surface--of the many wrinkled ocean, this practice can be recommended;
the only trouble is that such ambitious lads are now scarce, and the
ships are scarcer still.
Captain Nichols had a pleasant way of coming up, especially during the
second dog watch, after the mellowing influence of a Chow dinner, cabin
style, and conversing for a minute or two. He would let drop a hint as
to where we were and sometimes give me sights to work out. While we
were making such heavy weather of it and the wheel was hard to manage,
he told a story calculated to make me anything but cheerful. The ship
had yawed and the slap of the rudder sent the wheel over against all
the "beef" I could bring to bear. Then suddenly, when the pressure
shifted to the other side, the wheel came back with the kick of a
stubborn mule, and I was bodily lifted off my feet, saving my head by
doubling about the spindle.
"Look out, son!" shouted the Old Man. "I had a sailor thrown up against
the top of the wheelhouse once and his skull bashed in. That was his
last trick at the wheel. You better be careful."